Introspection, Vivisection
by In Macro-Vision
Summary: In which Tony does a lot of thinking about his life and the people in it. Not really sure where this story is going, but it is going. Features Eating Disordered!Tony, supportive!Steve and Super-Bestie!Bruce.


He stared blankly at the bottle in his palm, eyes half glazed over, though at this point he was too drunk to tell if it was from tears or simply from the tequila. He didn't even have anything to be upset over, this time. He had attended some boring gala Pepper had insisted he go to, had flirted with a couple of ladies who had come with the idiots he had to schmooze with, had quite a few glasses of champagne, and ended up completely zoning out on his way back to the tower, high off the endorphins that come with being on top of the world and lulled into calmness by the booze. This always happened, though; as soon as he got away from the crowd and back to his sanctuary, his masks fell away and he would feel all the emotions he so determinedly tamped down flooding him like a raging tempest. Because, at his core, that's what he was: volatile. All sharp edges, an electrified fence, a thing that would shock and cut and hurt anything it touched. Not that anyone would want to touch Tony. Admittedly, he had many sexual partners, which would honestly be the understatement of the year. He gave a weary, drunken laugh at the thought. They only wanted him because of his fakeness. If anyone were to see him for what he really was, nobody would touch him in a thousand years.

He sighed and gazed at the tequila pensively. 'This is gonna go straight to my fat ass...' Scowling, he shakily dragged himself to his feet, grunting as he made his way up from the floor. He set the tequila back inside the liquor cabinet, using it to steady himself as he attempted to stand straight. 'I wonder what the team is doing right now? Probably something a lot better than this.' He scoffed. Just thinking about the team made him feel even sicker, the nausea that had began rising at the contemplation of his disgusting body grew even more, and he had to stagger over to one of the work tables, collapsing on top of a chair. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He didn't need to make himself any more upset than he already was, but he couldn't stop. Thinking about the team always made it worse when he was like this, because he knew he was a disappointment. Especially to Steve, he knew. He had been on the other end of his diatribes on being 'so damn promiscuous' too many times for his liking. Having to hear that what he did was bad publicity for the team, that it was immature, that he had no fucking self control hurt, especially from the man that he... Cared for? He refused to even let himself go any farther down that road. There was a reason he had never had a long-lasting, healthy relationship.

He laid his head in his hands, draping his lean frame against the work table. The others would never understand the reason he slept around so often. When you're deprived of human contact for so long, is it surprising that you'd latch onto the first opportunity you saw to get it? It's not like Howard was the sort of touchy-feely father that it seemed like everyone else had. The thought of himself and Howard playing catch in a suburban backyard came to mind and he gave a semi-hysterical laugh. Too many feel-good family movies rot away your brain. And Maria? His father had put her in such a depression, she could barely keep herself afloat, much less give attention to her son. No, when he had his first taste of intimacy, he craved it, needed it more than air. It didn't matter if they left the morning after, whether they called you later, whether they even made eye contact with you from across the room afterwards. What mattered is that, for even the shortest amount of time, someone was touching you, feeling your body, being with you, focusing their attention on you. He wiped his eyes frantically, feeling warm tears start to run down his face. No, this was not the time for introspection. This is a time for more drinking. As he began his laborious attempt to stand, he heard a loud click, and looked up just in time to see Bruce making his way through the door. Why hadn't JARVIS told him someone was coming? ...Shit. He had put JARVIS on mute.

Hey Brucey, what's up? he slurred, cracking a wide grin. He attempted to give a little wave, but he ended up almost toppling over, and decided he should just sit back down in the chair.

Tony, are you okay? You seem really... really drunk. He replied, his voice worried. Have you been crying? Frowning, Bruce went to the table and pulled over a chair to sit beside Tony. Taking in his disheveled appearance, he turned to face him.

I'm peachy, Brucey! And no, I haven't been crying. Pfft. Starks don't cry. He snorted, rolling his eyes for emphasis. He leaned back in the chair and gave Bruce a grin and a thumbs up. So what brings you down to the lab at this time of night?

I couldn't sleep, so I decided to come down here and finish a project. What are you doing up still? It's 3 am! He asked, his tone getting more concerned by the moment. This is the second time in three days that I've found you trashed in here, and you're obviously really upset about something. Tony, we're friends, you can talk to me if you need to!

Bruce laid his hand on Tony's lap and gave his leg a gentle squeeze, trying to give a friendly smile to the inventor through his worry. 'He's touching me..? Bruce never touches anyone!' Tony thought, giving a rare, genuine smile.

It's okay, you don't have to worry about me. I'm just gonna... I'm gonna sleep now, okay? He said, slurring with a dopey grin on his face. His eyes fell closed and his head slid back and hung above the table, his mouth slightly open.

Bruce shook his head. 'Well, I can't leave him here all night, he'll be terribly sore in the morning. Guess I'd better drag his ass to the couch.' Bruce hooked his arms under Tony's armpits and hauled him up from the chair. To his surprise, it was a very easy task to drag him over to one of the black leather couches on the other end of the lab. 'He's way too light, I shouldn't be able to carry him anywhere near this easily!' He frowned again; if he had been concerned before, it was nowhere near how concerned he was for his friend now. He gently laid him down on the couch and stared at him pensively. In the light of the laboratory, Tony definitely looked unwell. His concealer was coming off in large patches, and the bruised purple around his eyes was easily visible. The angles of his thin body looked even sharper with the light casting shadows on him, and one of his collarbones jutted out too far to be strictly healthy from inside his shirt's collar. Bruce walked back to the table and took a seat, returning his gaze to Tony's prone form. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
